Conversations About Abuse

Living in a situation of domestic abuse is widely acknowledged as a deeply disturbing and distressing event that produces extreme trauma. Its victims will suffer physical, psychological and emotional issues, including extreme anxiety and fear, low self-esteem, a deep sense of shame, depression, injury and ill health, and many survivors experience post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

When I left my abusive ex, I did not think about myself as having traumatic experiences in need of recovery, because in the first year all I could think about was keeping myself and the children safe.  Perhaps naively, I thought that when I left him, I would just automatically go back to the person I was before I met him. However, since I left there have been many nights of not sleeping, numerous anxiety attacks, depression, and extremely high levels of stress. I gradually realised that trauma as a result of domestic abuse is real, and facing this trauma is not something that can be avoided. Through the journey towards recovery I developed a thorough understanding of how abuse operates on the self, and how processes of recovery work in mysterious ways to help survivors overcome their trauma.

Before my ex came into my life, I was a relatively normal person, with a relatively average life. I was by no means perfect, but I think I was a good person. I had a nice network of friends and family that I would see regularly, I was happy in my career and comfortable in my own skin. I enjoyed the company of others, and loved having conversations with people, talking, listening, and laughing. I especially cherished moments I would have with myself on my own, and when I was home I would often dance, or sing in my own language, usually whilst tidying up, cleaning or cooking. I did this my entire life, and I think it was in these moments that I felt closest to who I am on the inside. Whilst pottering about, singing and dancing, I could think clearly, processing the little things of daily life and organising the world in my mind.

The ultimate aim of men who abuse is to gain complete control over their victims, and their various abusive strategies are directed towards achieving this purpose. Financial abuse creates a direct dependence, and severely limits any chance of an independent life beyond the relationship.  Physical violence generates immediate and acute fear, which makes a victim reluctant to go against the abuser’s wishes, and stops them from challenging any abusive behaviour. The aim of emotional abuse is less easy to understand, and more difficult to detect. Name calling, ridiculing, and belittling are designed to make a person feel so bad about themselves that their consciousness becomes removed from their inner personality, until there is hardly any sense of self left.

The abusive man I lived with used a variety of techniques, and over a number of years, I changed from being a reasonably confident, happy person, to someone with very low self-esteem, thinking I did not deserve to feel good about myself, and forgetting who I was on the inside. He managed to do this by slowly removing me from the person I was, telling me almost every day that I was rude, and that other people found me embarrassing. He told me I was too loud, and that I always dominated conversations; if I was on the phone to friends or family he would write me little notes saying ‘how are you’, indicating that I was talking about myself too much, and not asking the other person how they were. If we were having dinner with friends, and someone would talk to me, he would interrupt and answer for me, or he would whisper in my ear to be quiet. Towards the end, he would not even whisper anymore, but would openly shush me. If I laughed he’d say I was too loud, if I didn’t laugh he’d say I was always miserable. If I sang or danced he would make a fuss, laughing at me, making me feel ridiculous. He never liked me speaking my own language, and often told me not to tell anyone that I could speak languages, as this would make me look pretentious. Eventually I stopped laughing, singing and dancing, and conversations with people became fraught with anxiety. Over time, he managed to exactly target the traits that made me who I was, until I became very uncomfortable in my own skin, and ashamed of my inner self, forgetting many of the little things that gave me pleasure.

I always thought that when he was out of our lives, I would soon start laughing, singing and dancing again, but it did not happen for a long time. The darkness I faced after leaving was a surprise, and it completely overwhelmed me. For a long time, any social event was accompanied by anxiety attacks (including throwing up), and feelings of shame or guilt afterwards. The first little ray of light in this darkness came in the shape of Natalya, a new friend I met at a mums’ night out; Natalya is a very beautiful, tall blonde woman, who is naturally glamourous, yet also one the most normal, down to earth people I have ever met. We enjoyed each other’s company, and were soon aware of the other’s background of living with abuse. After a few months we spent a weekend at a friend’s cottage in Norfolk, mostly to have some outdoor adventures with our children. The weekend we picked, in October 2013, witnessed one of the most devastating storms of the decade. We had heard about the storm on the news, and made sure we were back indoors from our woodland walks on time, following severe weather warnings.

As Natalya and I sat by the fire in the evening, we did not hear the raging storm outside. We were talking, and as we shared our stories, we realised we had had similar lives. For both of us it was the first time we disclosed some of our most hidden experiences, and we could quite easily recognise each other’s trauma. I felt I could talk without shame or embarrassment, and it was nice to feel comfortable in someone else’s company. At one point during the night we popped outside, to check on the house; it was only then that we realised the magnitude of the storm, it was incredibly loud, thundering through old trees, and whistling around the house. As we walked around the garden, checking things, Natalya said ‘hold on’, walked a few steps away from me, stuck out her perfectly shaped bottom and blew the loudest fart I had ever heard. It was so loud that it drowned out the thundering of the storm, I was sure the whole of Norfolk heard it.

In response, I felt a rumbling noise creeping its way up from inside me, needing to come out. It was laughter, I laughed, and laughed, louder and louder, from the depth of my insides. How could such a glamourous creature, all long legs and blondeness, do such a monstrous loud fart, and not feel any shame about it? She winked at me and said ‘be loud and be proud’, because ‘it is not healthy to hold it in you know’. In that moment, we looked at each other, and we knew, there is no need to be embarrassed about your innermost physical functions, and there is no need to apologise for being you. You do not need to be ashamed of yourself. You are entitled to be, and you can start re-claiming some of that person you are on the inside. I felt for the first time in years that it was ok to laugh, to talk, to sing, to dance and to be me.

Leaving an abusive relationship is incredibly difficult, and the journey to recovery is long, full of ups and downs. There are times that it seems almost impossible to feel better, but there is support, there are friends, and there is definitely laughter. It was that night in Norfolk that I took the first tiny steps to re-discovering myself and towards recovery; now, five years on, there are still moments that I worry that I sing too loud, laugh too much or draw too much attention to myself. Some remnants of the abuse remain, but whenever I need reminding, I hear Natalya’s voice telling me ‘be loud and be proud’, upon which I smile to myself and find the space to just be.

Mireille